Angel-Nip
by lunaerum
Summary: This … wasn't how things were supposed to end up. Or, alternatively: Harry is somehow angel-nip and it saves the world. MOD!Harry.
1. Death is Watching

**Disclaimer** : Don't own anything but the fic idea/writing.

* * *

 **Summary** : This … wasn't how things were supposed to end up. Or, alternatively: Harry is somehow angel-nip and it saves the world. MOD!Harry.

Alright! I've had this idea in my head for awhile, but I haven't watched SPN since mid sixth season, so it took me awhile to actually go back and watch. Hope you enjoy!

And I've seen quite a few MOD!Harry SPN crossovers, but what I would really like to see are some MOD!Harry SPN crossovers where Death is actually fairly fond and somewhat protective of Harry.

Also, I run a comm filled with Harry centric/Harry centric slash fics and I am in desperate need of recs! So send me your recs and I'll read them and put them in my comm. Thank you!

 **Pairing(s)** : I haven't decided yet. Will likely be some sort of slash or just gen. Send me who you would like to see with Harry in a review?

 **Warning(s)** : N/A for this chapter.

 **Timeline** : This chapter takes place post-war for HP (the timeline has been moved forward so that the war ends in 2008, rather than 1998, and all other HP dates have been shifted accordingly) mid-season 4 for SPN.

* * *

 **Chapter One:** _Death is Watching_

* * *

Harry doesn't notice at first.

To be fair, he has been fairly busy, what with the war ending and all. He has to do all these interviews, _repeatedly_ assure the public he doesn't plan on going dark anytime soon, and on top of that – he has to try to make things right with the goblins at Gringotts.

Which was somehow even scarier than facing Voldemort that last time.

Thankfully, they were easily assuaged. All it took was a hefty fine and some fumbling words in Gobbledygook, and they seemed to like him well enough. Especially once he decided to invest in Gringotts and asked that their best goblins teach him how to manage his truly overwhelming finances.

Because, well _yes_ he could have just asked Hermione or Arthur for their help, but the goblins really aren't that bad once you get past their extraordinarily sharp teeth and propensity for threats. That, and they really do know their finances, and they love showing wizards up.

So yes, Harry has been incredibly, _incredibly_ busy, and although Moody wouldn't take that as an excuse for going so long without noticing, to be quite honest, Harry hasn't tried to notice anything lately, not really.

These past few months have been hard.

He's still grieving over Remus and Tonks (and Sirius, now that the danger of Voldemort destroying the world isn't looming over his head), still feeling guilty over the fact that Fred is still in a coma, still feeling guilty about the war in general.

Hermione and Ron have _tried_ to convince him that the actions of Voldemort and his Death Eaters weren't his fault, but Harry can't quite bring himself to believe them. Doesn't know if he'll ever be able to bring himself to believe them.

So, no.

Harry didn't notice at first.

Or maybe he did, and he just didn't think anything of it. He's had people staring after him for his whole life, basically, so maybe that's why it took him so long to notice that a good number of the people staring at him and following him couldn't be seen by other people.

The revelation comes to him on a Thursday (or maybe a Wednesday - Harry's perception of time has been a little wonky after the war), the day that Hermione finally convinces him to go to the Leaky for lunch.

There was this man, almost standing in the shadows, wearing all black, which wasn't that weird, although the fact that he was wearing a Muggle suit kind of was.

So he points the man out to Hermione, saying "I really wish people wouldn't be so obvious about staring at me."

And Hermione and Ron, bless their overprotective souls, look about ready to whip their wands out and curse the person who had made Harry uncomfortable, but after a moment, Ron finally says, "Mate ... there's no one staring at you."

And first he thinks they're playing a joke on him, but he nixes that idea seconds after it crosses his mind. They both respect him enough not to joke around about stuff like this - stuff that makes Harry uncomfortable. Then he thinks for a moment that they just might not be able to see the guy, but that doesn't make sense either. The man is completely visible to Harry and it's not like he's tucked into the shadows so much that either of them would miss seeing him.

So that leaves the last option: the man is only visible to Harry.

Harry _wishes_ that was the weirdest thing that's happened to him in his entire life, but as it were, it doesn't even rank the top ten.

And because he can see Hermione and Ron starting to get worried, he says, "Oh, never mind. Sorry, the guy must've left. But it really was creepy, the way he was staring at me," all while staring at the mysterious man who hasn't stopped staring at him, something like awe and reverence in his gaze.

Thankfully, Hermione and Ron accepted the (admittedly awful) excuse without any more questions and forgot about it soon enough.

Lunch goes well, aside from that tiny mishap and the man vanishes half-way through desert. Harry lets Hermione and Ron pay for his meal (after a bit of arguing) and lets Hermione scold him for not taking care of himself. They leave soon after that, Hermione and Ron seemingly forgetting about the mysterious man and Harry hyper-aware that some of the many people staring may only be able to seen by Harry.

And Harry knows he should probably search for answers but he's half convinced that if he just ignores it and stays inside, it'll go away and Harry won't be left seeing people that are invisible to everyone else.

Unfortunately, that's not how it works out.

Again, it's on a Thursday (or maybe a Tuesday - Harry's been so abysmal at keeping track of dates lately) that that answers come to him in the form of an elderly man in a crisp, black suit.

He was sitting at the foot of Harry's bed and when he sees that Harry's awake (and nearly scared to death - he had personally re-warded Grimmauld Place and the fact of the matter is, no one should've been able to get in without his permission) he gives this tiny little half smile, that looked kind of odd on his face - like he wasn't used to smiling or something.

" _Harry Potter ..."_ The man says, cracking open a can of _Coca-Cola_. "It's ... so nice to meet you. I've heard _so_ much about you."

Yeah.

Harry can already tell that today is going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

Next chapter will be Harry discovering he's the Master of Death and why his invisible stalkers seem so happy to see him.

* * *

I'm lunaerum over on tumblr and twitter. Give me a follow if you like!

R&R please! Feedback on this concept/chapter would be great. Thank you!


	2. Death's Companion

**Disclaimer** : Don't own anything but the fic idea/writing.

* * *

 **Summary** : This … wasn't how things were supposed to end up. Or, alternatively: Harry is somehow angel-nip and it saves the world. MOD!Harry.

 **HEY! GO CHECK OUT MY NEW GRIMM/HP XOVER, _A GRIMM SORT OF STORY._**

 **Pairing(s)** : Things kinda got possessive between Death and Harry. That will probably be the norm for angels too. But feel free to send me who you would like to see with Harry in a review?

 **Warning(s)** : N/A for this chapter.

 **Timeline** : This chapter takes place post-war for HP (the timeline has been moved forward so that the war ends in 2008, rather than 1998, and all other HP dates have been shifted accordingly) mid-season 4 for SPN.

These chapters will probably be sort of short every time. This way, I can get them out quicker.

* * *

 **Chapter Two:** _Death's Companion_

* * *

"No," Harry says firmly, voice a bit muffled under the heavy weight of his blankets. "Absolutely not." And Harry knows burrowing under his blanket, closing his eyes, and desperately ignoring the man at the foot of his bed isn't the _best_ way to deal with his problems – but it's a little better than whipping out his wand and firing off the most destructive curses in his arsenal.

"Oh, don't be so childish." The man says, and Harry shuts his eyes against the grating noise of the man slurping down his soda. "I've already chosen you. You're _mine_."

At the remark, Harry throws the blanket off of his head and the cool air does little to calm his temper. "I'm a _person_ , not a thing! I don't belong to anyone but myself."

"Wrong." The man's – _Death's_ , though Harry has trouble believing that – eyes are dark, but amused, as he crushes the soda can in one hand, tossing it over his shoulder. "You're my master, I _choose_ you. You're the only one I found worthy, in all the years my gifts have been on Earth. You're the Master of Death. You're _my_ companion. You're _mine_."

"I don't want it," Harry says after a moment. "Choose someone else. I mean – you've got to be mistaken somehow. I can't be the Master of Death. I'm just Harry."

Death snorts. "I don't make mistakes. I choose you. I don't want anyone else." His eyes get just a bit darker. "I _won't_ choose anyone else."

In the face of that conviction, the fight sort of leaves Harry. "Well … just don't blame me when you realize I'm a terrible master."

Death smirks. "Oh, _Harry._ I don't think you've ever been terrible at anything in your entire life."

* * *

So.

It turns out he's sort of the Master of Death.

Harry doesn't know how to really process that information, other than shouting a bunch of expletives in the shower.

What had he ever done to deserve this? And why the hell was Death so intent on having _him_ , of all people, as his master? Wouldn't Death _not_ want a master?

None of this makes sense to Harry.

But he sort of has the funny feeling that this will _never_ make sense.

 _And_ he'd forgotten to ask Death what was up with all of the invisible people staring at him every time he leaves his house, because even though it's probably not fair, it's probably Death's fault they're staring at him.

 _Merlin_ , this is going to take some getting used to.

* * *

Luckily, or rather _unluckily_ , the next time he goes out to Muggle London, he acquires an invisible stalker. And rather than wait for Death to pop back into his bedroom and explain what the hell he'd done to Harry, he sort of does something without thinking.

(Hermione would be _ashamed._ But probably unsurprised.)

The man follows him for fifteen minutes, staring at him rather unnervingly the entire time. None of the people surrounding the man seem to see him and when it becomes apparent that the man isn't going to stop, Harry makes a sharp turn into an alley where the man, predictably, follows.

Probably not the best decision he's ever made, because he doesn't know if the invisible man means him any harm, but Harry is _really_ tired of acquiring invisible stalkers every time he steps out of his home for more than five minutes.

"Look," Harry turns to growl at the man once he's far enough in the alley where passersby won't be wondering why he's talking to himself. "You and your friends need to stop following me."

"What?" The man squeaks, nearly jumping out of his skin – clearly not expecting Harry to address him. "You can – you can see me? I mean … of course you can see me. Sorry – I was just curious –"

"No!" Harry bursts out, because the man fumbling with his words reminds him of how Neville used to be and Harry doesn't _want_ to make the man nervous, but he wants to stay angry too and if the man manages to endear himself to Harry, they'd likely be friends by the end of this meeting. And Harry doesn't _want_ to make friends with his invisible stalkers, he wants them to _go away_.

He thinks.

"No," Harry repeats. "Stop. Just – stop talking. Just leave me alone."

The man's expression drops. Which isn't good, because it reminds him of a scolded puppy and it makes Harry feel sorta guilty.

"I – I can't. None of us can. You _call_ to us and we can't resist. It's – you're – intoxicating. Today was my turn to see you. Please … don't – we won't bother you anymore, we just … we want to see you."

The man is so _earnest_ and it sounds like his heart is breaking by the end of his sentence. He's even wringing his hands, which seems like it would be out of character for him, as tall and wide as he is. In fact, when Harry had first spotted the man following him, Harry thought the man was out to break his knee caps or something. He towers over Harry, but with the man shifting nervously in front of him, it certainly doesn't feel like it. Harry wallows in his guilt for just a moment before the man's words register in his mind.

"Wait. _Who_ wants to see me?"

The man's eyebrows furrow at the question, like it's something Harry should already know. "Reapers, of course."

The guilt that had been bubbling in Harry's chest _freezes_ and turns to fury. "You mean to say that _Death_ sent you guys – to what? To _stalk_ me? Are you _kidding_ me?" With every question, Harry stalks closer and closer to the man, magic snapping out in the open air. Harry nearly doesn't hear the sharp intake of breath the moment his magic begins lashing out, but he decides to ignore it.

He's too busy being furious. If he shows concern for the man, all of that self-righteous fury will disappear in the face of worry.

"N-no, of cours' not," the man slurs, eyes half-lidded and nearly swaying.

It's such a drastic change in behavior from before that it has Harry reaching out to place a hand on the man's arm, quietly asking, "Hey … are – are you okay?"

Instead of responding, the man's eyes roll up into his head and he faints. He goes down with a thud, curling towards Harry and going worryingly still.

There's a long pause.

"… Did I just kill a man?" Harry asks of the alley.

Predictably, it doesn't respond.

* * *

Next chapter will be Harry meeting with Death again and finding out why the reapers seem to be so enamored with him ...

* * *

I'm lunaerum over on tumblr and twitter. Give me a follow if you like!

R&R please! Feedback on this concept/chapter would be great. Thank you!


	3. A Little Death

**Disclaimer** : Don't own anything but the fic idea/writing.

* * *

 **Summary** : This … wasn't how things were supposed to end up. Or, alternatively: Harry is somehow angel-nip and it saves the world. MOD!Harry.

So I got accepted into two of my top six college choices and I've been really happy since I got the news, so I decided to write this to celebrate!

I got the idea of how Gabriel should be introduced from lovely Ie-maru! Thank you so much for the help!

 **Pairing(s)** :Things continue to be possessive between Harry and Death. Gabriel begins falling for Harry before he ever sees his face, poor guy.

 **Warning(s)** : N/A for this chapter.

 **Timeline** : This chapter takes place post-war for HP (the timeline has been moved forward so that the war ends in 2008, rather than 1998, and all other HP dates have been shifted accordingly) mid-season 4 for SPN.

These chapters will probably be sort of short every time. This way, I can get them out quicker.

* * *

 **Chapter Three:** _A Little Death_

* * *

Harry waits five minutes for the reaper to wake. When he doesn't, Harry begins panicking. There is no steady rise and fall of the chest, no sign that the man is breathing.

For all intents and purposes – the man seems dead.

And if that's true … Harry killed him.

Oh, _Merlin_.

This is … this is _not_ good.

Horrified, Harry watches the man for any sign he might still be alive. When there isn't any, he calls upon the only being who would know definitively if the reaper had died.

"Death –? I – I think – "

"What?" Comes a voice behind him, the question sharp and cutting. Harry jumps at the noise, not expecting an answer so fast or for Death's voice to ring so loudly in the formerly empty alley.

"I – well. I think I killed – " Rather than say the reaper's name (that he didn't know), Harry gestures to the deathly-still reaper at his feet. "I – I don't – "

It's Death's expression that has Harry cutting himself of – it's amused, but there's something dark in his expression that has Harry's heart thudding in his chest. It's the amusement that doesn't make sense because it certainly didn't make sense for Death to be so _amused_ that Harry had killed one of his own – servants? Children? Death wasn't really clear on that when he explained the whole 'Master of Death' deal – so then … why _was_ Death pleased?

"You think you killed Tanner?" Death gives a dry chuckle here, one that becomes louder at the embarrassed and angry expression on Harry's face. "Oh, my _dear_. Tanner is about the farthest from death one could possibly be."

Doubtfully, Harry stares down at the reaper curled around his feet, who was – if Harry hadn't mentioned it earlier – _not breathing_. "… what do you mean? He looks dead to me – he's not _breathing_."

"Silly boy," Death sneers at him, though it sort of falls flat, given how fond the man looks. "He doesn't _need_ to breathe."

"Well, then … what's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's wrong with him." It's here that Death pauses, glancing over Harry in a way that feels a bit invasive, and a bit like a tease. "… let's just say that Tanner is _very_ happy." And Death injects _just_ enough innuendo in the sentence that the meaning of the sentence somehow manages to penetrate Harry's thick skull.

"Wait, _what_?"

* * *

"So you're telling me … " Harry begins as he paces the narrow length of the alley, trying not the think about why the ground was sticky or the way Death was looking at him. "That my magic, or soul, or _whatever_ is like … like a _drug_ to your reapers? To you? That … doesn't make any sense. I'm sorry, but it _really_ doesn't."

"Yes," Death says, smirk upon his lips. "It does."

" _No_ ," Harry disagrees, glancing at the prone figure, still passed out on the ground. Surely, _his_ magic couldn't have done that. "It _doesn't_."

"Well, it doesn't have to make _sense_ to you to be true. How or why it happened doesn't matter." Death examines his fingernails for a moment before staring down at Harry with pitch-black eyes. "All I know is that your soul is pure, your magic powerful, your presence – _intoxicating_. And I know my reapers feel the same."

Harry fights against the redness that threatens to overtake his cheeks.

(It doesn't work.)

"Well," Harry fidgets, nervous energy making him shift now that he was no longer pacing. "Shouldn't we try to figure out a way to make it stop? I mean, this sounds a bit like I somehow _Imperius'd_ you all or something."

Death gives Harry a somewhat patronizing look. "Oh, don't compare yourself to that paltry party trick. You're so much more than that. Now, let's go eat."

" …huh?" Harry verbalizes, not quite following Death's train of thought.

"You've pulled me away from work for a rather ridiculous reason – and now that I know you're not in mortal peril, I think I can spare an extra hour to take you someplace nice. Come along now, there's this rather pretentious restaurant in New York that I'd _love_ to take you to."

"What about Tanner? That was the whole reason I called you here!" Harry almost feels like stomping his feet. Would it _kill_ Death to treat one thing with a bit of gravitas?

"He'll wake. Eventually. Now about that restaurant … "

* * *

Now, Gabriel's not the type of angel (or trickster, as it were) that constantly had to know everyone's business. He wasn't _nosy_ , but there was definitely some merit in having dirt on everyone to cash in if you needed a quick favor.

So that's why, when he first saw the procession of reapers surrounding a restaurant in New York, he thought nothing of it. Who cared what reapers did? Certainly not Gabriel. Certainly not while he was on the job.

Then, admittedly, when the reapers didn't disappear after an hour – he got a little curious. By that time, he'd finished handing out his own flavor of comeuppance and he could afford to be a little nosy for nosiness sake.

So Gabriel creeps closer and closer to the restaurant, laughing inwardly when all of the reapers failed to recognize him. It always felt good when he managed to hide in plain sight. Never got old either, not in the thousands of years he'd been doing it.

He's almost to the restaurant when he feels it.

A flare of the brightest, purest magic he's ever felt. It rattles his vessels bones. It makes his caged, hidden Grace _sing_. All around him, Gabriel can see the reapers swoon – but he has enough self-awareness to know that he's not fairing much better. Gabriel desperately wants to waltz into the restaurant to see who exactly the source of the magic was, but he knows better than to try his luck.

He still has no idea what the reapers were doing outside of the restaurant or why there were so many of them. Reapers rarely went where the job didn't take them – and it's this thought that freezes something inside his chest.

Were they here to reap the source of the magic?

It would make sense.

Reapers may have been attracted to this place by the feel of the magic, but they were likely here first and foremost for a job.

Gabriel feels a surge of protectiveness at the thought of the source of that magic dying. He couldn't allow that to happen, never mind that he hadn't yet seen the origin of the magic, never mind that Gabriel had hardly acted out of anything other than selfishness in the all of the years he'd been in hiding.

No. Gabriel couldn't allow the little magician to die. Not when their magic made his very Grace trill, not when that soul was so bright it nearly _hurt_.

He couldn't allow it to happen.

But he couldn't do anything about it today. Not with so many reapers surrounding him. For where there were so many reapers, Death was sure to follow.

And though Gabriel may be a bit reckless, even he wouldn't fight Death.

(Though maybe he would for the little magician's life …)

No, the best course of action was for him to research. Cash in all those favors he'd been hoarding all those years to find out about the source of that magic and why the reapers seemed so interested in him.

It's with that thought that with great reluctance (for that magic was still pulsing in the air, heady and warm) that Gabriel vanishes and reappears in his house in Versailles, France – surrounded by candy of all kinds. Though usually a tempting sight, today, Gabriel finds himself without temptation.

If he focuses enough, he can still feel the weight of that magic, the way that it made his Grace feel.

It's habit more than want that has him grabbing a king-sized candy before disappearing once more, going to visit one of his pagan 'friends.'

Looks like it was time to cash in those favors.

* * *

There will be more Gabriel, more reapers, more Death – and maybe a Lucifer cameo – in the next chapter.

* * *

I'm lunaerum over on tumblr and twitter. Give me a follow if you like!

R&R please! Feedback on this concept/chapter would be great. Thank you!


	4. Death and Denial

**Disclaimer** : Don't own anything but the fic idea/writing.

* * *

 **Summary** : This … wasn't how things were supposed to end up. Or, alternatively: Harry is somehow angel-nip and it saves the world. MOD!Harry.

Alright so this chapter turned into a monster! Will probably come back to it, but wanted to get it posted for all my lovely readers.

 **Pairing(s)** : Harry Potter/Death, Death/Harry Potter/Mystery Person, Harry Potter/Angels, Harry Potter/Reapers, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Harry Potter/Dean Winchester, Harry Potter/Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Harry Potter, Lucifer/Harry Potter, Michael/Harry Potter. **_All of the pairings involving Harry except Harry/Death and Death/Harry/Mystery Person are hinted and/or fantasies. Harry remains mostly obvious to these things._**

 **Warning(s)** : N/A for this chapter.

 **Timeline** : This chapter takes place post-war for HP (the timeline has been moved forward so that the war ends in 2008, rather than 1998, and all other HP dates have been shifted accordingly) mid-season 4 for SPN.

Death changes how he looks in this chapter. I'm envisioning Colin Firth as "Harry Hart" in Kingsman for him.

Feel free to guess who you think the mystery person is! Fairly obvious once you finish the chapter, I think.

* * *

 **Chapter Four:** _Death and Denial_

* * *

When Harry wakes he's in his bed, under the few blankets he'd been able to find in the Black ancestral home. He's got an awful headache and the pain pulses at his temples and behind his eyes. The light hurts when he opens his eyes and his throat is sore.

Oh, and there's also a strange man – older than Harry, salt-and-pepper hair and eyes darker than Harry's ever seen – lying in bed with him, fully-clothed, legs crossed at the ankles.

And for a moment, fear over-takes him and adrenaline rushes through his system – and then he recognizes the look in the man's eyes, the expression on his face.

"… Death?" Harry sits up, groaning when his headache gets worse at the movement. He places his head in his hands and shivers when goosebumps rise along his bare arms and back now that he's not under a blanket.

 _That_ ' _s_ when he notices he's not wearing any clothing.

"Wha – what happened last night? Why am I _naked_?" Harry's voice steadily rises in pitch until he's damn near _squeaking_ and although Death's expression doesn't change, Harry gets the feeling he's laughing at him.

"You're wearing underwear," Death says, moving his hands from his lap where his fingers are intertwined, to where Harry's blanket has pooled in his lap, tugging at it – fingers just barely caressing Harry's stomach and inner thigh, making Harry shiver and squirm and _blush_ – until more of Harry's skin is revealed and Harry can see that he's wearing boxers.

Boxers and one sock, though that's more felt than seen.

Not exactly helpful, considering the last thing Harry remembered, Death had taken Harry to a fancy restaurant in New York, he'd been fully clothed, and Death had been considerably older than what he looked to be now.

"You didn't answer – what happened last night? And why am I only wearing my boxers?" He asks, still a bit hysterical, tugging his blanket to his chest in a vain effort to protect his modesty. Death looks amused by the attempt and still sitting propped up against the headboard, Death's hand remains on Harry's blanket covered leg.

Harry tries not to think about how Death's hand is large enough to almost cover the entirety of Harry's inner thigh.

"You drank two glasses of wine and got drunk. Then, you proceeded to spill water all over your and my clothing, but not before telling me some interesting – and rather _scandalous_ – things."

"Wait–" The blanket flutters back down to his lap –half-covering Death's hand on his thigh – released due to his lax grip. "What did I _tell_ you?"

 _Unsurprisingly_ , Death ignores him. "And I undressed you because I couldn't leave my _Master_ in _wet_ , _soaking_ clothing, now could I?" Somehow Death manages to places a million and one innuendos into that sentence, mostly straight faced but still faintly amused – and with a tone drier than the desert, but a voice deep and smooth. He even inches closer as he speaks, movement serpentine and so subtle, Harry isn't aware of his approach until he's centimeters away. Up close, Death's eyes look even darker and he smells _really_ , really good.

"Oh." Harry says. His heart sort of beats faster. Harry blames it on the new, more attractive form Death has taken.

Death squeezing Harry's thigh ruins the moment. The grip is _firm_ and it feels like a punch to the gut. Except. _Better_. Rather than think more about those strange feelings –

Harry squeaks and manages falls out of bed.

* * *

The first person Gabriel goes to see immediately after leaving his house in Versailles is, for lack of better word, a strange and complex deity. For no matter how much Gabriel tries, he can never truly get a read on the god.

Under the guise of Loki, Gabriel had quickly befriended Hermes – but the rest of that pantheon remained cold and distant to him. The fact that he could never get a laugh out of them was surely more due to their lack of humor than a mark against his.

Even with that being said, the strangest of Hermes relatives that Gabriel _had_ to be Thanatos, the god of death. They met while on the job, the both of them. Thanatos had been gently guiding a girl of no more than five to the afterlife, while Gabriel pranked the babysitter – who hadn't been paying attention to the child and hadn't called for help when the girl had a seizure until it was too late – with extreme prejudice. They met more formally after it was all said and done, Gabriel uncharacteristically solemn – he so hated when children died when it could have been prevented – and Thanatos' lanky figure towering over his vessel's form. Gabriel somehow got the feeling that he was more embarrassed having been caught cradling the girl's soul so gently than truly standoffish. Gabriel didn't exactly to confirm that theory, as they had not exchanged so much words, as a nod and that was all Gabriel had seen of Thanatos for a few centuries.

Until Hermes asked him for help with one of his family members.

* * *

Although Gabriel didn't interact with Thanatos much, he knew by word of mouth that the only person the god truly cared for was his twin brother Hypnos. They had a loving, caring – almost co-dependent, evidenced by the fact they were rarely seen without one another – relationship, which was more than Gabriel could say for the rest of that dysfunctional pantheon.

Which was why, when Hermes showed up in his villa near the Alps, uncharacteristically out of breath and with news that Hypnos was in trouble – because Hermes wasn't _stupid_ , he knew there was something more to Gabriel, which was another reason he liked the other god so much – Gabriel, perhaps foolishly, agreed without asking what the specifics were.

Hypnos was in a deep sleep and nothing was able to wake him.

This wasn't that unusual, for he _was_ the god of sleep, but he'd been asleep for decades and still nothing could rouse him. Hypnos slept for long periods of time without waking, but never for so long and Thanatos was _always_ able to wake him. Thanatos was unable to get an audience with Zeus for those first few years and when he had finally been able to share his concerns with the King of the Gods, Zeus had brushed him off.

A mistake.

Thanatos had been more and more erratic as the years passed, shirking his duties – standing vigil over his still-sleeping brother, until Hermes finally, _finally_ realized that they might need outside help.

Which is where Gabriel (or rather _Loki_ ) came in.

After agreeing to help, Hermes spirited him down to the Underworld, where Hypnos – pale, wrapped in blankets, and skinnier than he should've been – was laying on a bed and his brother was at his bedside. Thanatos didn't look up when they came in. His black eyes were bloodshot and his sandy blond hair was wilder and longer than Gabriel remembers.

Gabriel takes one look at Hypnos and knows what's wrong.

There's a faint pulse of Grace emanating from the god's body and after a closer look, he realizes it's from his brother – Kadmiel, the angel of sleep and dreams. Gabriel would bet that the very same thing was happening in Heaven – Kadmiel and Hypnos had likely met each other and their respective powers, though of the same domain, had been too different for either to metabolize and likely had sent both into a deep, deep sleep.

Luckily, the solution was easy.

Gabriel just had to separate the connection.

Gabriel nods at Hermes, gesturing to Thanatos' slumped form. "I can fix this. Easily. But I need you to take Thanatos out of this room and the both of you can't come back in until I say it's safe."

And Gabriel can tell that Hermes wants to ask _why_ it wouldn't be safe but instead says hesitantly, and rather slowly, "I … don't think Thanatos is going to go for that –"

"Well, too bad." Gabriel says, arms crossed. The feeling of another angel's Grace raises his hackles – or rather wings – and although he _knows_ Kadmiel is not in the dimly lit room with him, it's still putting him on edge. He didn't exactly leave his family on the best terms, after all. "Take him out of the room or I can't fix Hypnos."

Hermes' face, usually so open and friendly, closes off at Gabriel's tone – but he can tell that Hermes is desperate for Hypnos to wake, so he walks over to Thanatos' prone form and rather than explaining the situation to Thanatos, Hermes simply whisks the other god away.

Well.

Gabriel really needs to work fast now because it's only a matter of time before an _enraged_ , protective Thanatos bursts back in his shared room with his brother. He walks over to Hypnos, dark-haired with more delicate features than his brother. Hypnos is breathing deeply but slowly – slower than Gabriel would like – and when Gabriel places a hand on Hypnos' chest, the god doesn't so much as flinch. Unable to be perceived by humans or gods, Kadmiel's Grace arcs and swirls around Hypnos, little wisps of bright light and heavy emotion. Gabriel gathers those wisps into his other hand, condensing them into the bond he knows to be there and _yanks_ them away from Hypnos, squeezing the bond until it's little more than dust and particles. Under his hand, Gabriel can feel Hypnos' heart and breath quicken. The light of Kadmiel's Grace brightens and brightens until even the barest trace of his Grace disappears. To any other being in creation, that light would have burned their eyes to a crisp had they looked upon it, but to Gabriel – it is simply _beautiful_.

And it reminds Gabriel of _home_.

With a deep, fortifying breath Gabriel takes his hand from Hypnos' chest and he's _barely_ taken half a step away when Thanatos bursts back into the room, wild-eyed and frantic. Hermes follows, trying to pull a struggling Thanatos back out, saying something to the other god Gabriel can't hear.

"You can come in," Gabriel says, turning fully to face the two gods. Hermes has two black eyes and a cut on his neck that's leaking ichor and there's gold smeared across Thanatos' face – though Gabriel doubts it's his. "Hypnos should wake in a few minutes. You _both_ owe me."

Gabriel doesn't doubt that Thanatos would've collapsed had Hermes not been holding onto him, but they both nod, something like gratefulness in their eyes.

He doesn't wait for a verbal reply, flying back to his little villa in the space between milliseconds.

The nod was all he needed. Gabriel has two gods in his debt – and he will come to collect eventually.

But years turn into decades turn into centuries and Gabriel has never had a need to cash in those debts.

Until now.

* * *

Gabriel finds Thanatos in the very same room he'd left the god in all those years ago. His hair is still shaggy, though pulled back into a braid – Gabriel has the feeling Hypnos had done so for him – and he's tearing into a piece of pizza like it owes him money.

Weird, but not the weirdest Gabriel's ever seen.

(That dubious award probably goes to Michael and the time he'd tried to preen himself when they were fledglings. Hilarious, but it ended with feathers everywhere.)

At Gabriel's approach, Thanatos looks up but his expression falls at the sight of Gabriel. "Oh," he says, frowning. "It's you."

Gabriel stalks closer and his wings – bound by various magics and rendered nearly useless to him and invisible to even his siblings – itch to flare out in a dominance display. But because he's not a _Neanderthal_ , he represses the urge and instead takes a look around at the room he didn't get to see much of the last time he was here. Its dark, which – _duh_ , Underworld – but fully equipped with the more useful technology of the era. Hidden in a corner is a small kitchenette with a fridge, sink, and microwave and in front of Thanatos a large flat-screen T.V. is mounted on the cave-like wall.

"You expecting someone else?" Gabriel says after his perusal of the room.

Thanatos scowls. Gabriel gets the feeling it's not an uncommon look on him. "Hypnos is supposed to be back soon. Need to tell him to stop setting me up on blind dates."

Gabriel blinks. Not the reply he was expecting. "Blind dates, eh?"

Thanatos rolls his eyes. "What are you here for, Loki? Can't be to hear about my disastrous date."

"No, no," Gabriel says magnanimously. "I'm here to listen if you need to talk."

"What are you here for," Thanatos says and it's not so much a question as a statement said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, _alright._ You're cranky today, huh? Date must've not put out." Gabriel dodges the pizza crust that's thrown at him. It lands somewhere by Hypnos' bed. "Okay, okay! I'm here to collect on that favor you owe me."

Thanatos stares at Gabriel suspiciously. He still doesn't stand and it feels sort of ridiculous talking to someone in a pink, fuzzy chair. "What is it?"

"You in contact with any reapers?" Gabriel doesn't wait for Thanatos to respond before continuing. "There were a bunch of reapers following a source of magic in New York the other day. I need you to find out what was happening and if the magician is dying."

To his credit, Thanatos doesn't ask why Gabriel needs the information. "Okay … I'll see what I can find out."

"Thanks." Gabriel says, for once sincere. "You know where to find me."

* * *

After a shower and dressed in clean clothes, Harry feels much, much better.

His headache is mostly gone and mouth doesn't feel so much like something died in it after he brushes his teeth. His hair's a lost cause, but he's been unable to tame it since forever so he doesn't let it bother him too much.

When Harry walks out of the attached bathroom, Death in the same place Harry had left him when he'd fallen off the bed, scrambled for the nearest items of clothing, and ran into the bathroom.

Even with his legs crossed at the ankles, hands in his lap, and looking younger (but still older than Harry), and almost entirely harmless – it's Death's eyes that give him away. They're intense, dark, and _piercing_ – and when Death refuses to look away, following his every moment closely, Harry flushes, turns a bright, burning red.

"So …" Harry says and the soft sound almost echoes in his room. "Why do you look different?"

"Wanted a new _look_. Why – do you like it?" The question is a loaded one and Harry can tell from the smug (and admittedly sort of attractive) look on Death's face that no matter his answer, he's doomed.

Still, Harry figures denial is the best option. It's never failed him before. "N-n- _no_." He says, even though his bright cheeks sort of give him away.

"Dear boy," Death says with a smirk, rising from the bed and stalking closer. "If you're going to _lie_ at least do it well."

With a muted scream of frustration, Harry throws his damp towel at Death, halting his approach, giving a crow of satisfaction when it hits the entity in the face.

 _Ha_.

Death: 0, Harry: 1.

* * *

Breakfast is an easy affair or is was until Harry remembered about the Reaper they'd left in the alley. Appalled by Death's nonchalance when Harry asked after Tanner (and by Death's thievery of his bacon) Harry made Death _promise_ to go find Tanner and make sure he was okay. After much grumbling and forcing Harry to promise in return that he wouldn't leave without waiting for Death to come back after checking on Tanner.

Which was weird, because Death didn't care before whether Harry left his home or stayed – but Harry figured he wanted to take Harry out again or something, so he agreed because he really wanted to make sure that Tanner was okay.

That Harry hadn't killed him.

So Death leaves (after stealing all of Harry's bacon, the thief) and Harry heads back upstairs after cleaning up their collective mess. There isn't much to do in the house besides sleep, eat, and read – and because he'd made a promise to stay in for the next few hours, he'd already eaten, and doesn't feel like reading, Harry heads to his room for a nap.

In all honesty, he hadn't gotten the best night of sleep last night – he wants to blame the alcohol, but it's not exactly an unusual occurrence for him to wake up in the morning more tired than he'd been going to bed – and Harry knew from experience that an hour nap would do wonders for his residual exhaustion.

So Harry settles into bed (and if he's closer to Death's side of the bed than his, that's no one's business but his own), pulls the covers up to his chin, and drifts into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

There's a hand on his ass.

Not like, gripping it or anything. But there's an arm draped over his waist and a hand is definitely near his rear area.

If Harry knew this was what being Master of Death entailed, he _definitely_ would've protested more. "Stoppit, Death." Harry rolls over onto his other side, dislodging Death's hand on his waist. "Tryin' to sleep."

"Sounds like you're awake to me," A voice that's definitely _not_ Death says.

Harry's eyes snap open. He scrambles to a seated position and stares at the other man in his bed, heart hammering in his chest. The man has blond, fine hair and eyes almost as dark as Death's. His features are handsome in a way that's classically beautiful and if Harry had seen the man in the street, he surely would've admired his looks – but as it were, Harry is just creeped out. What's even weirder is that he looks just as confused as Harry.

"Wha – who are you? What are you doing in my bed?"

The other man opens his mouth to answer but doesn't get a chance to respond – because the temperature in the room suddenly drops until Harry can see his breath as he exhales and the lights begin flickering.

It's like something out of a horror movie.

And Harry is just about to dive for his wand when a familiar voice asks, almost as cold as the temperature of the room –

" _What are you doing here?"_

* * *

Next chapter will be more interaction between Harry, Death, and the man (or should I say god) in Harry's bed. Lucifer cameo and Dean cameo. I think.

* * *

I'm lunaerum over on tumblr and twitter. Give me a follow if you like!

R&R please! Feedback on this concept/chapter would be great. Thank you!

Please consider supporting me on ! The link is on my profile page. My url there is also lunaerum! Thank you!


	5. Death Squared

**Disclaimer** : Don't own anything but the fic idea/writing.

* * *

 **Summary** : This … wasn't how things were supposed to end up. Or, alternatively: Harry is somehow angel-nip and it saves the world. MOD!Harry.

Alright so this chapter turned into a monster! Will probably come back to it, but wanted to get it posted for all my lovely readers.

 **Pairing(s)** : Harry Potter/Death, Death/Harry Potter/Mystery Person, Harry Potter/Angels, Harry Potter/Reapers, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Harry Potter/Dean Winchester, Harry Potter/Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Harry Potter, Lucifer/Harry Potter, Michael/Harry Potter. **_All of the pairings involving Harry except Harry/Death and Death/Harry/Thanatos are hinted and/or fantasies. Harry remains mostly obvious to these things._**

 **Warning(s)** : N/A for this chapter.

 **Timeline** : This chapter takes place post-war for HP (the timeline has been moved forward so that the war ends in 2008, rather than 1998, and all other HP dates have been shifted accordingly) mid-season 4 for SPN.

I'm envisioning Colin Firth as "Harry Hart" in Kingsman for Death.

* * *

 **Chapter Five:** _Death Squared_

* * *

"Death…?" Harry asks after a moment, still groggy and half asleep. Above him, the light fixtures tremble and flicker. The air is so cold his breath has fogged up the glasses that sit crookedly half on and half off his face, glasses that he'd forgotten to take off before his nap and were now probably broken.

Whatever.

There were more important things to worry about.

Like how Death and the man in his bed looked about ready to murder each other.

"No fighting each other in my bedroom!" Harry quickly says when Death's expression twists into a snarl and the man beside him in his bed tenses. He quickly adds, "No fighting anywhere else," just to cover all of his bases.

Because really, the two men _did_ look quite murderous.

Death, at least, visibly calms at his words, closing his eyes and exhaling very deeply and very slowly. All of that effort however, is lost when he opens his eyes and sees that with Harry sitting up, the mysterious man's hand is placed in an _extremely_ inappropriate spot and doesn't look likely to move anytime soon. His nostrils flare and Harry can tell this will _not_ end well and he's just about to shout something else when Death steps forward to –

… yank Harry off of the bed.

Surprised, Harry doesn't even have time to protest being dragged bodily off of his _own_ bed, before he's pulled off of the mattress – blankets and all – and into Death's arms.

Harry can only blink a few times and wonder _how_ this is his life. He attempts to step back and out of Death's embrace so that the three of them can have an adult conversation without him pressed to Death's surprisingly warm chest, but Death's hands only tighten their grip on his waist.

A grip that is suspiciously low and somewhat extremely inappropriate.

That point of contact – Death's big hands on his waist – has him feeling almost uncomfortably warm all over. And it's not so much that Death's grip is painful or that Harry hates it – it's just …

Making him … _feel_ things. A molten something that settles in the pit of his stomach that makes his heart beat faster and his cheeks burn hot – and almost makes him want to _squirm_. His magic is buzzing, buzzing, _buzzing_ beneath his skin, and it _must_ be his proximity with Death, because Harry's never been this close to the other man (entity?) before. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he's as affected by Death as Death is affected by him.

Which is … great.

Not really, but at least Harry doesn't feel so guilty about the power imbalance now. Harry might be Death's 'master,' but Death made Harry feel all _fluttery_ inside. Which probably doesn't really make up for Harry being Death's master in the first place, but Death refused to pick someone else.

And Harry could plot and plan on how to get Death to release Harry as his master later – when there wasn't a stranger in his bed and Death wasn't holding himself as if one wrong move from said stranger would have them engaging in a physical fight. Because while Death was warm and his grip on Harry wasn't painful, he _was_ very tense and very stiff.

Harry sighs and wonders what he'd ever done to deserve this.

"Alright." Harry says, face still somewhat pressed against Death's waistcoat. "This is ridiculous." He brings up the only hand he can get free to Death's chest and manages to place enough distance between them so that Harry can look up at Death.

Death, who is over half a head taller than Harry.

What a _bastard_.

"Are you okay now?" Harry asks of the man holding him. Death's hands tighten on his waist, but he doesn't respond. "You're not going to _attack_ him –" Here, Harry gestures to the mysterious stranger on his bed with a jerk of his head. "If I talk to him are you?"

Harry can already tell by the look on his face – fond now that he's looking down at Harry, instead of the violent sneer he had looking at the stranger, but there's still something dark about his expression that makes Harry shiver – that the answer is not going to be one Harry will like. Still, when Harry pushes himself further away and stares up at Death (emulating, of course, Molly when Arthur or her children do something she doesn't like), Harry can tell that Death has caved to his whim when the taller man exhales loudly and pulls Harry back to his chest.

"Fine," Death says rather snidely after a long moment, though the bite of the word is somewhat softened by how gently he's holding Harry, whose cheeks burn. He can only imagine what this looks like to the stranger in his bed. "I won't kill him. Although –"

"Although, nothing!" Harry interrupts, struggling to push himself away from Death with his only free hand so he can make eye-contact. It doesn't work as well as it did the first time – Death is surprisingly strong and doesn't seem keen on letting him get his way a second time. Though, Harry doesn't really know why Death would want Harry all pressed up against his chest. After a futile struggle, in which Harry remains as close to Death as is physically possible despite trying to get away, Harry continues speaking, though louder and quite a bit angrier than before – Harry would much rather be talking to Death and looking into his eyes, not his chest (though, to be fair, it _was_ a pretty nice chest).

"No fighting, no killing – the three of us are going to have a civilized discussion and you –" Harry jabs a finger at Death's chest. "Are going to let me go because we are not going to have this discussion while I'm in your arms and _he's on my bed!_ "

"You made him angry." Death says to the stranger in Harry's bed, still mostly monotonous although to Harry, it was still rather obvious he was _furious_.

"No." Harry says, sucking in a deep breath. "I just – didn't expect to wake up to this. At all." Harry exhales and the fight sort of leaves him. "Let's just go downstairs and we can sit down and talk, alright?"

* * *

Harry makes Death walk in front of him as they walk down the stairs – as the entity had been in his house before and knew the way downstairs to the dining room – and the stranger walk behind him. It seemed like trouble to let the two walk behind him, even if the mysterious man's stare on his back was sort of unnerving. They make it to the dining room without problem and seat themselves around the table that was likely twice as old as Sirius' mum and just as temperamental. Unsurprisingly, Death seats himself beside Harry to his right – though he snarls at the man when he tries to do the same.

Harry sighs.

He feels like he'll probably be doing that a lot in the future.

At Death's non-verbal protest, the man raises an eyebrow and walks to the other side of the table, sitting down directly across from Harry. Somehow from the time Death seats himself and the other man does the same, Death managed to place a hand onto Harry's thigh, and when Harry finally notices it takes nearly all of his strength to suppress another sigh. Telling Death to remove the hand would probably go in one ear and out of the other and so Harry lets it be.

Again, there were more important things to worry about.

Like the mysterious man, who he was, and how he got into Harry's warded house.

"So." Harry says slowly. "Who are you and how did you get into my house?"

The blond man smiles – a small smile, little more than a quirk of the lips, but it looks good on the man, makes his dark eyes shine. "My name is Thanatos."

Harry blinks. "… that name sounds familiar." Where had he heard it from?

"I'm a god," Thanatos answers, still smiling.

"He's an overzealous reaper," Death says dismissively.

"That still doesn't explain how you're in my house." Harry presses his lips into a thin line, trying discretely shift away from Death's hand on his thigh. Death only tightens his grip.

Harry absolutely does _not_ squeak.

"I'm the god of Death." Thanatos says simply.

"Oh no." Harry says, immediately making the connection. As Master of Death, Thanatos likely felt the same pull that Death and his Reapers felt.

"Oh, _yes_." Thanatos says, smile turning into a smirk.

Merlin.

How is this Harry's life?

* * *

There's something bad brewing in Heaven.

See, one of Gabriel's greatest strengths is denial. And avoidance.

But some things just _ate_ at him and he couldn't ignore him.

Like the whole thing with the magician.

And the other thing where it looked like the apocalypse was coming to Earth.

And Gabriel knew dear old Dad hadn't planned for this – because if He had, he'd be the first to know.

Because he'd be the one to spread the message.

So it looks like Raph and Mike had decided to move the timeline up, either that, or Gabriel was interpreting all of the signs and rumors wrong.

Gabriel hoped it was that.

Because as estranged as he was from his family, he _really_ didn't want to watch his two older brothers kill each other.

* * *

Next chapter will be more interaction between Harry, Death, and Thanatos. Next chapter will probably have that Dean & Sam & Cas cameo. Maybe a Lucifer cameo.

* * *

I'm lunaerum over on tumblr and twitter. Give me a follow if you like!

R&R please! Feedback on this concept/chapter would be great. Thank you!


	6. Death Dies

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything but the fic idea/writing.

 **Summary:** This … wasn't how things were supposed to end up. Or, alternatively: Harry is somehow angel–nip and it saves the world. MOD!Harry.

 **Pairing(s):** Harry Potter/Death, Death/Harry Potter/Thanatos, Harry Potter/Angels, Harry Potter/Reapers, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Harry Potter/Dean Winchester, Harry Potter/Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Harry Potter, Lucifer/Harry Potter, Michael/Harry Potter. _**All of the pairings involving Harry except Harry/Death and Death/Harry/Thanatos are hinted and/or fantasies. Harry remains mostly obvious to these things.**_

Let me know via reviews if seeing Four Horsemen/Harry is something you guys are interested in, in this fic or even another! _**  
**_  
**Warning(s):** N/A for this chapter.

 **Timeline:** This chapter takes place post–war for HP (the timeline has been moved forward so that the war ends in 2008, rather than 1998, and all other HP dates have been shifted accordingly) mid–season 4 for SPN.

The latter half of the chapter takes place during or post S4E15, _Death Takes A Holiday_ in which Alastair is capturing reapers to kill them and break another seal. During which, he implies that Death gave him the weapon to kill the reapers. I'm retconning that. Canon Death may have done so, but this Death has something to protect and an apocalypse is … not conducive to doing so. So, Alastair lied about that and he stole the mini–scythe from someone else.

I'm going by airdate for canon dates so Dean was sent to Hell on May 15, 2008 and the Battle of Hogwarts was a few weeks earlier on May 2. That's why Dean isn't already in Hell when Lucifer feels Harry come back to life and become Master of Death. Because I shifted dates around, Teddy was born in April 2008 rather than April 1998 and thus when S4E15 takes place March 2009 he's eleven months old.

I'm envisioning Colin Firth as "Harry Hart" in Kingsman for Death.

Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine. Let me know if I made a typo, please!

* * *

 **Chapter Six:** _Death Died_

Please be sure to review if you liked the story!

Also … please consider supporting me on ! This would allow me to write more often than I have in the past. The link is on my profile page. Thank you!

* * *

 _May 2008_

Hell was … boring.

It was a prison for Lucifer, full of fire and the worst that humanity had to offer … but even in Hell, he wasn't without power.

Though he was trapped in the Cage, Lucifer was still an archangel, one of the most powerful beings in creation. Imprisoned he might be, but much of his power – and more importantly, his _wit_ – still remained.

It was this wit that suggested that the makeshift ruler of Hell made sure that he aware of the happenings of Earth. Humans may be useless mud monkeys, but that didn't mean they weren't amusing, nor did it mean that Lucifer couldn't tempt them and even turn them into demons. Lucifer is as close to omniscient as one can get and it's not often that he's surprised.

In fact, since he was interned in Hell, Lucifer can count on one hand the amount of times that he's been surprised – or he could if he _had_ hands. Unless in a vessel, he had no human-like appendages. But the point still stood – it wasn't very often that Lucifer surprised.

So when Lucifer feels that on Earth a magical skirmish has begun, he isn't surprised. Humans were imbued centuries ago with 1/100 of the Grace an average lowly cherub had and like all other humans, enjoyed conflict and needless destruction. The conflict, while amusing, didn't hold his full attention – humans fighting, whether with magic or without, was nothing he hadn't seen before. He was far more interested in the preparations his demons were taking in preparing for the arrival of Michael's true vessel.

Or … at least he _was_ , before the brightest, purest, almost _Grace–like_ magic bursts into existence, far more powerful than the measly one–hundredth of a cherub's Grace that had originally been given to the humans.

Although angels don't procreate, they do pair off – or at least they _did_ when Lucifer was still in Heaven. It's based mostly on Grace compatibility (and to some, the number of wings, the luster of the feathers, or the amount of Grace – vain creatures that they are) and Lucifer, damned King of Hell never thought he'd ever feel that compatibility for the rest of his wretched existence.

But yet that pure, bright, and beautiful magic so much like the Grace Lucifer remembers, reached out to him, set every nerve alight – made his feathers tingle. His brothers and sisters often spoke of such a sensation, that when Grace compatibility begun between two angels, their feathers would begin to tingle. It was a sign that the angels should be as close as possible to complete the next part of the mating ritual, the mixing of Graces.

And so he shivers, shudders, and stretches his wings – screaming wordlessly when the movement reminds him painfully that he's stuck in Hell, in a Cage, and unable to meet the mating call. He screams for minutes, hours, days even, before words return to him. Before the mourning of his failure to rise to the mating call turns to a bitter rage.

" _FIND THE SOURCE OF THAT MAGIC!_ " For if he cannot go to his would-be mate, they would have to come to him.

Around Lucifer, the Cage rattles and the fires of Hell burn even hotter. The screams of the damned, too, get louder, but Lucifer neither hears them nor does he care.

Every sound, every sensation melts away as the last echo of that magic sinks into his impure Grace, calming him – if only for a moment.

Lucifer waits until the magic leaves him colder and emptier than before, before speaking once more, his entire being quivering behind his Cage – far more affected by the magic that he'd thought he would be.

"Find the source of that magic," Lucifer repeats quieter, but even so, the sound echoes throughout the depths of Hell – and eager to please, his demons chitter and chatter like some sort of Hellish cicadas.

" _And bring it to me_."

* * *

"So?" Sam repeats incredulously from his place off to the side. If she's being honest, Tessa had almost forgotten he was there. " _So_ , you should shag ass. For all we know they could try and snatch you, too."

"Except that this town is off the rails, and someone has to set it straight." Tessa looks up to them, unflinchingly, acting unphased by the idea that a _demon_ is snatching reapers. She isn't, but not because she's scared for them. Reapers are hard, if not impossible to kill. She knows that any other reaper taken by a demon will survive.

No, she's on edge because she knows that if she doesn't take care of this situation fast enough that Death will become aware of it, if he isn't already. And once Death knows of that demons are kidnapping Reapers, so too will Harry.

Tessa has only seen the fabled Master of Death a few times. She was one of the few that saw him crowned as the Master of Death after he was resurrected one last time and was thus one of the few that felt him metamorphose from an above average magically-inclined human, to a powerhouse. Those first few seconds after he was welcomed back onto the plane of the living, something like the Grace of angels electrified the air around him and Tessa felt each little lightning bolt like a shock to the heart. Dumbstruck and originally placed on the battlefield to reap the souls of the dead, Tessa watched as Harry defeated Voldemort, his eyes glowing like the Killing Curse that had hit him not three hours earlier.

The moment he touched the Elder Wand, Tessa (and every reaper in existence, Tessa imagines, though the proximity to Harry made the sensation stronger) felt a bond erupt into existence between her and her Master, full of life and light. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever felt and not a sensation she would ever forget.

(Though by the looks of things, he didn't feel the bond, the light. Tessa didn't let that bother her. He would be made aware of his title and duties eventually.

For now, she was content to watch over her newly made Master.)

So no, she wasn't worried about her fellow reapers. They could take care of themselves. Tessa was worried about involving her Master. He was kind and … gentle to all of the reapers he'd met. And if he found out that demons were targeting them, he would surely try to help. Disregarding the fact that Tessa hated the idea of Harry trying to help and ending up hurt, she'd heard that demons were looking for a being of great magical power. For what, she didn't know, but she _did_ know that Harry fit that description and that she would protect her Master in every way that she could. If keeping Harry out of the loop, then so be it.

She'd reap those escaping Death in Greybull, Wyoming and set the town right. She'd do it not only because it was her _job_ but because it would keep her Master out of this mess.

"Yeah, we understand that." Dean's voice snaps Tessa out of her thoughts. She wants to raise an eyebrow at the idea that he could understand _anything_ about being a reaper and what it entailed, but she restrains herself. "But these are special circumstances."

"What? Your whole Angel–Demon dance–off?" Do these boys think that no one else on Earth knows about the nigh–apocalypse? How _embarrassing_. "I could care less. I just want to do my _job_."

And that's true, but more than anything she wants to fix this mess and reap the souls that have been avoiding Death before it turns into something she can't fix on her own – something that she has to call Death in about, or worse, her Master.

"Right, yeah, and look." Sam starts. Unfortunately, his puppy–dog eyes have no effect on her. "We want to help you do your job. So if you would just bail town –"

"No." Her answer is blunt and short. Leaving town and failing her job is _not_ an option, especially not if she wants to keep her Master out of this mess.

"Well, then, could you hold off until we fix this?" Dean stares into her eyes and she stares into his. Even though she knows he's trouble, since their first meeting, Dean Winchester has always intrigued her. " _Please_."

She sighs at that, deliberating what she should do as she exhales. If she continues to reap the walking dead until she's capturing by whatever demon is targeting reapers, then for the amount of time that she's reaping the dead, Death and her Master are unaware of what's happening in the town.

But … if she lets Sam and Dean fix the problem for her, then there's no demon, no danger, and she can reap the souls that need to move on freely, solving the problem that another Reaper had been sent here to solve.

There's also the problem that if she doesn't reap while they work on fixing the demon infestation, the lack of souls from the town that should be passing on that aren't would become more and more obvious as time went on, depending on how look it took Thing 1 and Thing 2 to fix the problem.

But … it's better than nothing.

"Alright." Tessa acquiesces, trying to ignore how unnerved she feels. "But just so we're clear … _When_ I start reaping again, I'm starting with the kid."

This is for the best, Tessa tries to convince herself. The problem will be solved in no time and with neither Death, nor her Master any the wiser.

Everything will be fine.

* * *

Perhaps she shouldn't have thought that.

Perhaps she shouldn't have agreed to let Dean and Sam _Winchester_ to work on the demon situation. She _knew_ that they were bad luck. Not only with her first hand-experience, but every piece of information gathered by her fellow Reapers said, plain and clear – Dean and Sam were trouble-magnets. That they messed up as often as they didn't.

Because everything _isn't_ fine.

Tessa got another Reaper _killed_.

And perhaps now it was time to break the news of _how_ to Death.

( … and unfortunately, to her Master as well.)

* * *

Harry wonders how his life has come to this.

After the war ended, Harry had been a mess – full of guilt, anger, and self-loathing. Guilt, for not ending the war earlier, anger at Voldemort for starting a war that he hadn't even been able to win, and self-loathing for living when others hadn't. Luckily, a few weeks after the war had ended, Hermione had lectured him into a better emotional state, meaning that she had been there for him, listened when he needed to talk, comforted him when he hadn't.

Which isn't to say that Ron hadn't helped too. Although terrible at dealing with emotions (even his _own_ , though Harry had no right to talk) Ron had been supportive and there for Harry, even when he broke the news to Ron that Harry and Ginny weren't going to be dating anymore.

(And Harry doesn't know if it's because Molly is Ron's mom and he's good at hugs because she is, but in those few weeks after the war, Harry had been horribly touch-starved … probably something about dying and coming back to live. Ron had been a life–saver then, knowing Harry well enough to tell when he'd needed a good solid hug.)

It wasn't until a month or so after the war that Harry had begun to take his Godfather duties seriously. It's not that he wasn't before – he was just much too busy helping out with the post–war clean up and trials and funerals to think about it. He'd made up for it by spoiling his tiny baby godson then, but with the whole Master of Death thing, he'd accidentally done it again. It'd been weeks since he'd saw his godson last and the guilt is almost suffocating.

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't that hated being a godfather, because he _didn't_. Teddy was the cutest baby in the entire world and Harry …

Was so afraid that he'd end up like the Dursleys.

They were the only real reference Harry had on child-rearing. Both his parents died long before he could remember them, the moments before their death notwithstanding. He had the Weasleys and Sirius too, but he hadn't known them as long as he'd known Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

What if the Dursleys messed up Harry far more than he realized? What if he _hurt_ Teddy?

They were ridiculous thoughts, because Harry loved Teddy more than he loved himself – but they were thoughts that haunted Harry. And it's the fear of messing up and the fact that Harry has been lax in his godfather duties of late that have him scrambling around the manor, trying his best to clean where he can in preparation for his godson's visit later that afternoon.

He just wished Death and Thanatos would either help or leave him alone.

"No! No touching!" Harry twists in Thanatos' hold so he's facing the god, who looks more like the cat that caught the canary than someone Harry'd chastised not five seconds ago. Harry scowls as Thanatos ducks his head (because like Death, the god is much, much taller than Harry, the jerk) and drags him forward, big hands warm on his waist, to nuzzle Harry's head.

"No. Touching." Harry repeats firmly, resolutely ignoring how good the contact feels.

And he prepares to continue the one-sided conversation for at _least_ another five minutes (because, again, like Death, Thanatos was very, very stubborn), when Thanatos is ripped from his side and sent crashing across the room.

Harry sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. One would think after a week of living with both Death and the Greek god of Death, he'd be used to their roughhousing, but unfortunately, Harry doesn't think it's something he'll ever get used to.

"Death! What did I tell you about flinging Thanatos across the room?" Harry asks, feeling somewhat like he imagines how McGonagall must feel when one of her students does something extraordinarily exasperating.

Death's reply comes from somewhere behind him – Harry doesn't turn to look, too busy cleaning the drawing room to prepare for Teddy's arrival.

"Not to." Death's voice is bored and not rebuked in the slightest.

And that _really_ rubs Harry the wrong way, because while he didn't want to be feared – he wanted his words to have weight, he wanted to be _listened_ to. More than that, he wanted Death to stop throwing Thanatos around the house when Harry was trying to _clean_.

His scowl gets deeper at the thought and he turns to face Death, eyes glowing Avada Kedavra green. Around them, the various knick knacks in the drawing room rattle and the temperature lowers nearly imperceptibly. "Then why don't you _listen_?" He looks between Death and where Thanatos was a moment before, crumpled on the ground, but finds no one – it confuses him only a second and does nothing to calm his ire when he turns back to Death. "Why can't you listen to _one_ thing that I say?"

" _I_ listen. Did you listen when I said how intoxicating you were?" In his black (muggle) suit, Death looks out of place in the ancestral home of the noble Black family and even next to Harry, who was in worn muggle clothing that wasn't even as nice as Death's. Death doesn't even have the decency to notice this as he takes a step forward, eyes dark and intent.

Harry sputters, blushes a bright, ruddy red, and desperately tries to hold onto his anger. "I-I – that's not the point!"

"Oh, yes it is." Death darts forward to pull Harry toward him, one hand on his waist, the other cupping a cheek more gently than Harry realized Death could touch someone. Absentmindedly, Harry brings his own hand up to cover Death's, heart warm and anger gone.

"Do you remember what I said?" Death steps even closer to Harry, jerking the other man out of his thoughts. "I said your magic is intoxicating. It's indescribable. It's beautiful. I don't blame that mongrel for touching what's mine, but I can't have him thinking it's okay to touch, now can I?"

And … the anger is back.

"I'm not yours," Harry hisses, digging his fingers into Death's hand. "I am not a _thing_."

"You're not," Death agrees easily. "You're not a thing."

With these words, Harry is easily mollified and cleaning for Teddy's arrival gets pushed to the back of his mind, too engrossed in the conversation at hand.

"But that doesn't mean you aren't mine. _My_ Master. I chose you." He rubs his thumb over Harry's cheek and unused to how such contact makes his magic buzz beneath his skin, how it makes him want to _squirm_ (even after living with Death for weeks), Harry's knees almost buckle.

"That doesn't – that doesn't mean any – oh, Mer _lin!_ " The buzzing sensation only gets worse when Death pulls Harry even closer, feeling like someone was caressing his magical core as well as every centimeter of skin available. In an effort to not make anymore strange noises, Harry presses his lips together firmly until the sensation gets a little less intense. "That doesn't mean anything," Harry finishes primly, trying to evoke the likeness of Hermione, though his voice is perhaps a bit too breathy for that.

"Is that so? I think – "

But Death is interrupted by the telltale noise of the Floo activating in the fireplace behind them and at the sound, Harry freezes, remembering how much more he had left to do before Teddy arrived and how he'd gotten distracted, first by Thanatos, then by Death.

It's not until Andromeda and Teddy actually pass through the fireplace that Harry realizes that with Harry and Death wrapped around each other, the picture they paint is one very far from the truth.

"Ah – Sorry! I didn't –" Harry clambers out of Death's arms and faces Andromeda, cheeks getting progressively more and more red. "I didn't realize what time it was, I'm sorry – I'm –"

"Oh don't be, Harry ... I didn't realize you had company!" Andromeda looks between Death and Harry curiously. Teddy, who is cradled in her arms, only has eyes for Harry, and reaches for him impatiently.

With a distracted smile at Andromeda – who hands Teddy over to his godfather – the statement doesn't sink in until Teddy's comfortable in his arms, with his tiny hands grasping onto the fabric of his muggle t–shirt. "Huh? Oh, um –" Harry shifts Teddy in his arms and turns to look from Death to Andromeda, wondering how to explain the situation to her. "He's my – He's –"

"I'm his husband," Death interrupts with an especially shark–like smile, reaching forward to shake Andromeda's hand.

Later, Harry identifies this particular moment as when his entire life goes right to Hell.

* * *

Apprehension isn't a common emotion for Gabriel to feel. He's felt it though – felt the full range of emotions his Father had Blessed him with – felt fear and anger and _anguish_ too. Felt 'em all in Heaven before he resolved himself to leaving the only home he'd ever known for good.

When he'd hid on Earth, Gabriel promised himself he'd never feel those things again. Never let himself feel those things again.

And for a long time, he didn't. He lived without a care, doling out justice where needed, partying where he wanted –

But with the apocalypse coming –

With reapers after the little magician (whose magic was natural and thus _supposed_ to be watered down Grace, though there was nothing watered down about it. It had even made his feathers tingle, strange as that was to even think, knowing what that meant) –

Those emotions start to come back one by one by one until he has the full set, plus a few more.

And when Thanatos doesn't come back after a week of looking into the reaper problem? Everything gets worse.

The worry that he'd had for the little magician develops into full–blown anxiety that keeps him up at night (not that he needed to sleep, but still), has him wondering if he's too late and the magician had been long dead and that's why Thanatos hadn't come back yet, because he didn't want to give Gabriel bad news ...

And it's not that Thanatos didn't know where to find him, Gabriel wasn't worried about that. He made himself easy to find these past few days (not any less protected, but the god of Death wouldn't be able to find him in any of the homes he'd carved Enochian sigils) and it made the wait even worse, being out in the open when he felt so rubbed raw on the inside. With his Grace and wings bound as they are, it only makes him feel more vulnerable in the face of the terrible, awful emotions he'd vowed never to feel again.

Gabriel's in the process of a deep breath when behind him, he feels a very familiar presence.

Thanatos.

He spins around, fearing the worst, but –

Thanatos doesn't look harmed, he doesn't even look distressed. If Gabriel had to put a word to it, he'd say that Thanatos looks … like he's _glowing_.

"Well?" Gabriel asks impatiently, wanting badly to crawl back into one of his safe houses around the world and hide for a bit. He barely tempers the urge to tap his foot on the ground. "What did you find out?"

Thanatos raises an eyebrow languidly and waits – smirks (the little shit!) when the pause agitates Gabriel more. "The Reapers weren't there for him." Thanatos makes a face at the statement, bringing up one hand to make the universal gesture for 'so–so'. "They _were_ , but not there to reap him."

Another pause. Thanatos looks as if he's debating telling Gabriel something.

"You owe me," Gabriel reminds Thanatos, voice somewhat dark, when it looks like the god won't talk.

In response, Thanatos sighs, dark eyes looking at their surrounding then back at Gabriel. He takes a step closer and that's when Gabriel realizes that Thanatos wasn't nervous about sharing the information … but was more worried about the location being secure. Gabriel almost snorts, knowing that at the moment, this abandoned building was more protected against angels and other unwanted eavesdroppers than most in the world.

"They weren't there because they want him dead," Thanatos says quietly. "The Reapers want him because he's the Master of Death."

* * *

Next chapter will complete the conversations started in this chapter and Tessa explaining what happened and Harry (& Death & Thanatos) preparing for the apocalypse. It will have more Teddy too! And Cas and assorted demons. Maybe even a Chuck cameo and another Lucifer one!

* * *

I'm lunaerum over on tumblr and twitter. Give me a follow if you like!

R&R please! Feedback on this concept/chapter would be great. Thank you!


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